Page 23 of Obsession on Repeat (Vinyl Hearts #1)

By the time I walked into Euphoria that night, I was all eyeliner, bass lines, and purpose. Gina raised an eyebrow when she saw me in the hallway.

"I assume this means we’re pretending the internet doesn’t exist?"

"I’m here to do my job."

"And I’m here for hydration and quiet reflection."

Rolling my eyes at her, I headed straight to the booth, fingers already twitching for the controls.

Asher was nearby watching me. I didn’t need to check in with him.

We were fine. The lights dimmed. I let the music speak for me, ignoring anything that was trying to attack me, to invade the peace I had found and was trying so desperately to protect .

After the set, I climbed down from the booth and found him waiting at the base of the stairs.

"You’re unbelievable."

"Took you this long to figure that out?"

He didn’t smile. He stepped closer, hand hovering at my waist like he wasn’t sure if he could touch me in front of everyone. "I wanted to say something earlier, but then you walked on that stage, and I—" He paused. "You drive me insane, Rory. It’s getting harder to breathe when you’re not near me."

I laughed, soft and careful, trying to tamp down the panic rising behind the pull in my chest. "That sounds dangerously close to something you can’t unsay."

"I know."

The world spun on outside our little bubble, but something between us shifted again. I knew exactly what he meant. I was this close to falling.

If I hadn’t already.

I was two shots deep into a post-set cool down when Gina slid into the booth across from me, eyes narrowed. "You gonna tell me what’s going on," she asked, "or do I have to drag it out of you with tequila and emotional blackmail?"

I reached for the lime wedge. "Pretty sure you answered your own question."

She snorted. "That set? You were possessed. The crowd practically wept. Asher looked ready to propose mid-bass drop."

My lips twitched. "Stop."

"Nope." She pointed her straw at me. "You're glowing like you were laid and got a raise at the same time."

I didn’t respond.

She leaned back, smug as hell. "Knew it."

I shook my head, fighting a smile. "It’s not what you think."

"Isn’t it?" Her tone softened, cutting through the teasing. "You’re not freaking out. You’re not running. You didn’t flinch when Elle tried to stir the pot."

"She doesn’t scare me."

"No, but what you’re feeling does."

That landed harder than I expected. I stared down at my shot glass, the lime half-melted on the rim. "It’s…" I paused to find the words. "He sees through all of it and somehow he still wants me."

"Sounds a lot like love, babe."

I exhaled slowly. "Yeah, that’s the problem."

She reached out and clinked her glass against mine. "It’s the best kind."

We were on the couch at his place, legs tangled, a half-watched movie playing low in the background.

My head rested against Asher’s chest, the rhythm of his breathing lulling me into a comfortable daze.

His fingers traced patterns along my arm while his other hand toyed with the hem of the blanket we shared.

My phone buzzed, and I lazily glanced over, staring down at an unknown number. I sat up too fast, fingers cold around the phone.

"What’s wrong?"

I stared at the screen. The number wasn’t saved, but I knew it, digits unable to forget from a lifetime ago. I blocked the number, lowering my phone onto the coffee table. "Nothing, I’m fine."

He studied me. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I’m going to get some water." I escaped into the kitchen and stood there for a minute. I didn’t hear him follow me, his tall frame hovering behind me.

"Talk to me."

I shook my head. "It’s not important. "

"Rory."

"I need a minute."

I found him on the balcony, legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, and a mug in his hands that had long gone cold.

He didn’t say anything when I joined him.

He slid the mug to the side and opened the blanket he’d wrapped around himself.

I sat down without a word, tucking myself against his side.

"That number is someone I haven’t heard from in years."

Asher didn’t react

"It wasn’t a boyfriend," I continued. "Not officially, anyway.

It was… complicated." I stared out at the lights beyond his balcony, heart pounding harder than it should’ve.

"I was eighteen. Dumb and broke, desperate to matter to someone.

He was older. He said all the right things, took care of me in ways no one ever had, but it came with strings.

It was subtle at first, what I wore, who I saw, where I worked. It eventually got worse."

The words tasted like ash in my mouth. I hadn’t said this out loud in years.

"I used to tell myself I stayed because I was strong enough to handle it, that I wasn’t those other girls who needed saving. Truth is, I stayed because I didn’t think I deserved better."

His arm came around my shoulders, his hand resting against my ribs .

"I left after he broke a chair in front of me on my birthday. He didn’t hit me. It was always a veiled threat that it could happen. I didn’t think it would happen until that night. It took something that violent for me to finally realize if I didn’t leave, I would be the next thing he’d break."

He pressed his lips to the top of my head, silent in a way I knew he was choosing in order to comfort me and give me the space I needed to keep going.

"I never told anyone all of that," I murmured. "Not even Sullivan."

"Because he didn’t want the whole story. He wanted the version that didn’t mess with his image of you."

I closed my eyes. "I didn’t want you to see that part of me."

"I want all of it, Rory, especially the parts you think are too heavy."

I didn’t cry. For the first time in years, I let someone see me and didn’t feel smaller for it. Asher didn’t say anything else, he merely pulled me closer.

Eventually, I turned my face toward his and kissed him softly. His hand came up to cradle my jaw, his thumb brushing over the curve of my cheek. I climbed into his lap without thinking, legs folding around his waist, my forehead resting against his.

We sat there for a long time in silence, the city lights flickering across the balcony.

The next morning, I woke up to my name trending. Not DJ Fetish. Rory Jones.

Some anonymous forum had dropped a timeline of my past. Pieced together from old photos, club fliers, public records no one should’ve been able to dig up.

I stared down at the opening line of the article.

"Not everything about Rory is as curated as her playlists…"

I stared at it for a long time before clicking through. Mentions of the man I told Asher about. Mentions of the state I left in. A photo from the bar I worked at when I was barely legal and completely lost.

And the kicker?

The blog was run by a PR account previously associated with Elle.

Holding his mug, Asher appeared behind me as I sat frozen at his kitchen table. I didn’t speak. He leaned down, scanned the screen, and I felt him stiffen .

"Tell me she didn’t—"

"I’m not sure she posted it herself, but she certainly lit the match." My mug hit the table harder than it needed to as I stood up. "I’ve spent years building this life, and she thinks she can dig up a version of me she doesn’t understand and weaponize it?"

"What are you going to do?"

"You may not approve of it."

His eyes narrowed slightly, not from judgment, but from recognition. He knew what that tone meant. "Well, by all means," he shrugged, "go take care of business."

Elle didn’t expect to see me. She was seated on a velvet-backed lounge at a hotel bar, laughing too loudly at someone who wasn’t listening. When she spotted me, her smile faltered, then rearranged itself, a mask slipping back into place.

"Well, this is an unexpected visit."

"I figured I’d cut to the chase and come right to the source."

She raised an eyebrow. "I didn’t post anything. "

"No, you planted enough seeds that someone else did the watering."

Elle leaned back, crossed her legs, eyes glinting. "I didn’t lie. I clarified."

"You exploited what you didn’t understand. You took pain that didn’t belong to you and tried to make it a punchline."

She didn’t flinch. I could tell by her face that she truly believed she hadn’t done anything wrong.

"You think exposing someone’s past makes you powerful?"

"I think it makes me smart to expose people who try to rise too fast." Her mouth tightened. "Asher and I have a past you’ll never understand, Rory." She took a sip of her drink. "I’m not trying to ruin your little fantasy. I’m trying to help you realize what world you’re in now. This isn’t some fairy tale where you come out on top.

We’ve already seen how your first attempt went.

" Her smirk returned. "Once he realizes I’m willing to take him back, he’ll leave you. He always comes back to me."

"You’re confusing history with relevance, Elle."

Her smirk faltered.

"Whatever you had with him? It’s over. You’re not the unfinished chapter, you’re the footnote." I tilted my head, eyes locked with hers. "And let’s be clear, I don’t need some fairy tale ending. I need him, and he’s already mine."

I walked away and didn’t look back.

I posted it to my story first and then to my feed. It was a simple video. There was no filter, no styling, only me with no makeup wearing a hoodie, a messy bun on top of my head.

"My name is Rory Jones. You might know me as DJ Fetish. You might not. Either way, here’s what I want you to know. I don’t owe anyone my trauma. I don’t owe anyone my past. But since someone decided to leak a version of my life that fits their narrative, so let me tell you mine."

I looked into the camera. "I was young when I started out on my own, barely sixteen at the time. I stayed in situations I should’ve run from, and I stayed silent when I should’ve screamed.

I learned a hard lesson. I built something that no one handed me.

No one saved me. I saved myself, and I’ll keep doing that until there’s nothing left. "

The video cut to black, and I ended it with a simple caption.

"You don’t get to write my story. I already have. "

It didn’t take long for the video to go viral. Comments poured in, some expected, some not.

@missem_violet: this is what true bravery is.

@coratalksalot: Thank you for saying what so many of us feel.

@captivated_craft: you survived. you thrived. you own it.

Verified names I didn’t follow were reposting the clip. Music blogs were calling it one of the most ' defining public reclamations of the year '. My inbox filled with interview requests I had zero interest in answering.

Elle, meanwhile, was quiet. Her PR account had gone dark. The blog was scrubbed. An anonymous source finally admitted she’d 'encouraged the piece,' and the internet flipped on her fast. The same voices who once echoed her rumors were now calling her petty, jealous and irrelevant.

I didn’t need to say another word.

I was curled up on the couch, hoodie over my knees, laptop open but ignored, when my phone buzzed again. I stared at Sullivan’s name for a long beat before opening the message.

I saw your video. I should’ve been a better listener when you were with me. I hope you’re okay. I hope he’s good to you. You deserve that.

I didn’t reply.

Asher came in a few minutes later, sliding a mug of tea into my hands. He sat down beside me, and I leaned into him, a comfortable silence that no longer felt strange to me settling between us.